


A Valiant Effort

by lesbianryuko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tree Climbing, hawke is a soft himbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: When Hawke’s dog frightens Anders’s cat into a tree, Hawke insists on rescuing her. Unfortunately, this feat is not as easy as he thinks it is.





	A Valiant Effort

**Author's Note:**

> i'd been working on this for a little while and then found out today (well technically yesterday where i am) is international cat day and was like I Must Finish This Today. so here it is lol. this is one of the funniest, stupidest (in a good way) things i've ever written. this was done for the @dapromptexchange summer fill-a-thon on tumblr, for this prompt: "One of Anders' cats gets stuck up a tree. Hawke goes to get her down and -- promptly gets stuck in the tree."

Hawke’s dog, Angus, is the definition of a gentle giant: he’s friendly and loving, but the fact that he weighs over 150 pounds and stands taller than a dwarf tends to intimidate both people and animals. People, Hawke finds, are usually fairly easy to reassure. Animals...not so much.

When Angus sees another living being, his natural inclination is to bark at it and try to approach it, not because he wants to hurt it, but because he wants to be its friend. Apparently, though, this does not translate well to other animals, and now Hawke is standing in someone’s front yard like a dumbass while he tries to figure out how to explain to the owner that his dog chased their cat into a tree.

As if on cue, while Hawke is staring up at the tree branch where the silver tabby cat is perched, the front door of the little one-story house opens, revealing a lanky man who looks to be close to Hawke’s age, with reddish-blond hair pulled up into a small ponytail. He’s kind of hot, actually, in a messy, sleep-deprived sort of way.

“Madame Fluffykins?” the man calls. “Madame Fluffykins, where did you go?”

Hawke tries his best to suppress a laugh at the ridiculous name, but it doesn’t really work, so he ends up making a sound kind of like he’s about to throw up, but with more snorting. Real attractive. Predictably, Angus barks at the man and pulls at the leash in an attempt to get closer. This was all it took to frighten Madame Fluffykins into the aforementioned tree, but hopefully her owner isn’t as fearful of large dogs as she is.

The man nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Hawke and Angus standing in his front yard, Angus’s tail wagging a mile a minute and smacking Hawke repeatedly in the leg. “What—?”

Hawke laughs sheepishly. Pointing up at the tree, he says, “I take it Madame Fluffykins isn’t a fan of large dogs?”

The man groans exasperatedly and strides across the lawn until he’s standing next to Hawke under the tree. Up close, Hawke can see his stubble, his freckles, his prominent nose bridge, the crinkle of his eyes, and suddenly this situation is significantly less terrible.

“Great,” the man says, breaking Hawke out of his gay trance. “It took two hours to get her down last time.” With a sigh, he pulls out his phone. “Better get ahold of the fire department.”

“Wait!” Hawke blurts. “You don’t need to do that. I can get her down.”

The man raises a skeptical eyebrow, reluctantly slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Really?”

“Of course,” Hawke says eagerly. He’s totally bullshitting, he knows it, but he has to make it up to this guy somehow. The least he can do is fix the problem he caused. “I’m great with animals.” Beside him, Angus barks happily, as if to back him up.

“If you say so,” the man replies, but if Hawke isn’t mistaken, there’s a hint of a smile on his face now.

Hawke sets the leash on the ground. “Stay,” he tells Angus, though he doubts the dog would stray from him, especially when there’s still a cat to befriend. Angus lies down in the grass and gazes up into the branches expectantly. Madame Fluffykins makes a _ mrrrow _ sound from her place among the leaves.

Hawke eyeballs the trunk of the large tree. He doesn’t think he’s climbed one since he was a child. Luckily, this tree has a few low-hanging branches to give him a decent start. Besides, he works out fairly regularly anyway and has a considerable amount of upper body strength. Now’s his chance to impress this guy and get back into his good graces at the same time.

With one hand on one branch and one on another, Hawke hefts himself up onto the tree, scrabbling for a foothold for a few seconds before remembering that this isn’t the same as rock climbing and that there isn’t anything underneath him to put his feet on. Instead, he hastily grabs for the next branch, and then the next one, pulling himself up and up until he can rest his feet on the branches he started with. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the man staring at him, less with amusement now and more with awe. Awkwardly, Hawke says, “I, uh, I work out.”

The man crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like he’s just barely holding back a smirk. “I can see that.”

While Hawke is contemplating his next move, it occurs to him that he never actually introduced himself. “Oh. Uh. I’m Hawke. By the way.”

“Anders,” the man replies, a twinkle in his eyes.

Hawke forces himself to return his attention to the tree and the cat. He can gawk at Anders later.

Some of the branches are oddly placed, because trees don’t grow according to whether or not a human is going to climb them, but for the most part, climbing gets easier once Hawke gets a bit higher up and the branches get closer together. Surprisingly, Madame Fluffykins stays put, as if she’s realized now that she’s gotten herself into a bit of a conundrum. Hawke tries not to think about anything but the task at hand, and after a short while, he finds himself sweating but finally eye-level with the cat, who eyes him suspiciously.

“Hello, kitty,” he says. “Mind if I get on your branch for a second?”

Predictably, Madame Fluffykins does not respond.

Hawke grabs the base of the branch with both hands and hoists his whole body up, steadying himself enough to be able to sit on it, though it bends ominously under his weight. It’s then that he finally gets the chance to look down.

Hawke fancies himself a man of few fears. Spiders? No big deal. Clowns? Not a problem. The dark? He revels in it. Bears? He is one. The height of the tree barely even crossed his mind when he offered to get Anders’s cat back. Now, though, as he notes how small everything looks from up here, hyperaware of the way the branches creak and sway in the summer breeze, he suddenly finds himself feeling extremely vulnerable.

_ Shit. _

Hawke turns his attention to the cat, mentally shutting down any thoughts about how high up he is and how at any moment the branch could break and he could fall to his untimely death at the age of twenty-four. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he says in a high-pitched voice, making little kissy noises and reaching a hand out while using the other to cling to the branch for dear life. The cat takes a few tentative steps forward, never taking her eyes off of him. Hawke laughs nervously, racking his brain to try to remember what Merrill does to get her cats to come to her, when suddenly he has an epiphany.

“Madame Fluffykins,” he croons, making a _ pss-pss-pss _ sound and gesturing for her to come toward him. The cat takes another few steps forward and leans back. For a moment they both just stay like that, frozen in time, eyes locked. Then Madame Fluffykins launches herself into his arms.

Hawke catches her with his free arm and holds her protectively to his chest, then dares to glance back down at the ground. Now _ he’s _ the one in a conundrum. He only has one free hand, it’s too far for him to jump without seriously injuring himself, and he’s scared to death of moving from this spot in case he slips and falls—but the longer he stays here, the higher the risk of the branch snapping from his weight.

“Impressive,” Anders calls, hands on his hips. “What now?”

“Um,” Hawke says brilliantly. “You...might end up having to call the fire department anyway.”

Anders snorts and shakes his head. “Now _ you’re _ stuck up there, too? Maker’s breath.”

“Hey, I only have one free hand!” Hawke says defensively. “Unless you want me to, I don’t know, toss your cat down for you to catch—”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Anders replies, though he still sounds vaguely amused. “She’d hate us forever.”

“I didn’t think so,” Hawke says with a chuckle. He can imagine that being thrown from this height would be extremely distressing to most pets, and he’s not one to judge—he’d never do anything to traumatize Angus like that, either.

The branch makes a small cracking noise that causes Hawke to immediately envision himself falling to the ground, his body scraped up by branches before he crashes down on top of Anders and crushes his noodly, gangly figure. That would be bad. “Uh,” he says anxiously, “might wanna get around to calling that fire department. I don’t think this branch is going to hold out for much longer.”

“Oh. Right.” At that, Anders breaks out of whatever trance he was just in that caused him to stare at Hawke so intently for those last few moments. At least, he _ thinks _ Anders was staring at him, but he was probably just keeping an eye on Madame Fluffykins. Yeah, that would make more sense.

Anders calls the Kirkwall fire department and sheepishly explains the situation, though he leaves out a few details about how, exactly, the cat got stuck in the tree in the first place. “They said they’ll be over as soon as they can,” he says when he gets off the phone, and then all that’s left to do is wait.

That probably isn’t too much of a problem for Anders, but Hawke isn’t having a whole lot of fun balancing precariously on a branch while Madame Fluffykins squirms in his grasp. In an attempt to distract himself and mask his apprehension, he says, “So. I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“I just moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago,” Anders replies, sitting down on the ground next to Angus, who is now lying in the shade with his head in his paws.

Despite himself, Hawke snorts. “And you’ve already had to call the fire department to rescue your cat more than once now?”

Anders laughs a little. “Madame Fluffykins is...a bit skittish, especially in new surroundings. I have a cat door installed out back for her to go in and out. Don’t know why she doesn’t just run inside instead of climbing up a tree when something scares her.”

Hawke still can’t hold back a stupid grin at the name. “Speaking of,” he says wryly, “where’d ‘Madame Fluffykins’ come from?”

Anders shrugs and smiles a little. “It’s sort of continuing a tradition. My parents let me name our cats when I was younger. I had one named Mister Wiggums, and then another named Ser Pounce-a-Lot. I thought they were fun names. Still do. They have character.” He turns toward Angus and gives him a scratch behind the ears, though he looks a little wary, like he’s not quite sure what to do around such a large dog. “What about you? What’s his name?”

A gust of wind startles Hawke, and he tries not to think about the loud rustling of the leaves or the way some of the thinner branches swing wildly. “Angus,” he says once it dies down, holding on tightly to Madame Fluffykins—for her safety or for his own comfort, he’s not quite sure.

Anders nods. “A strong name,” he says. With a chuckle, he adds, “It kind of sounds like Anders.”

“Sure, it _ sounds _ cool, but the story behind it is a bit less so,” Hawke replies, smiling fondly at the memory. “The day we brought him home as a puppy, we had Angus beef burgers for dinner as a treat. When I grabbed mine and went to take a bite, Angus jumped up and snatched it right out of my hands.” At that, Angus lifts his head up off the ground and tilts it to the side. Hawke laughs and calls down, “Yes, you!”

Another crackling sound breaks him out of his brief moment of...not bliss, exactly, but less fear than usual. He glances over at where the branch is connected to the trunk and notices that it’s starting to splinter. It’s still a fairly large, sturdy branch, but a couple more minutes and it’ll probably fall. Hawke holds onto the trunk even tighter than he has been. “Hey, uh,” he says, trying to sound casual, which fails horribly because his voice shakes, “did the fire department give any sort of estimated time of arrival? The branch is...having a bad time. And so am I.”

Anders raises his eyebrows in alarm. “You can’t...move to another one or something?”

Hawke, having been paralyzed by fear into staying put, had assumed that this possibility would be a no-go. It occurs to him now, though, that he doesn’t _ have _ to hold Madame Fluffykins, since the fire department is coming to rescue them both anyway. He could set her on one branch, giving him the use of both his hands, and hop over to another nearby branch, as there are a few sturdy-looking ones in his general vicinity. The funny thing is, though, that part of him doesn’t want to let her go. He can tell himself that it’s just because he’s overly concerned for her safety, but the truth is that he feels... _ better _ holding her. The feeling of her warm fur against his chest and the sound of her breathing against his neck is almost calming, making him feel a bit less vulnerable.

Before either of them can say anything, though, Hawke spots a large red truck making its way down the street. “Oh, we’re saved!” he crows, automatically breathing a sigh of relief, though he still won’t be anywhere near comfortable until he’s back on solid ground. “Did you hear that, Madame Fluffykins? We’re saved!”

The firetruck parks on the side of the road. As the ladder slowly elevates to Hawke’s level, he realizes, to his chagrin, that his friend Aveline is the one coming to rescue him. Of course. He’ll never hear the end of this one.

“Hawke,” she says as she climbs up the ladder, looking disappointed but not surprised. “I should’ve known it was you.”

“Aveline!” Hawke says cheerfully, though he can feel his face heating up from embarrassment. “What can I say? I tried to do a good deed. It backfired spectacularly. Story of my life.”

“No kidding,” Aveline says as she reaches toward him and takes Madame Fluffykins in her arms. There’s a faint smile on her face, though.

“Well, it was a valiant effort,” Anders says from his place at the base of the tree. Hawke tries not to blush.

With both arms free, Hawke wastes no time in climbing onto the ladder and following Aveline back down. As relieved as he is, it’s not until he’s finally back on the ground that his heart stops pounding in his ears. Angus leaps up at the sight of Madame Fluffykins and wags his tail as he watches Aveline place her in Anders’s arms. “I’ll be taking my leave,” she says curtly, but her eyes crinkle with affection. Anders thanks her awkwardly, and then, as quickly as she came, she drives off, leaving Hawke and Anders standing across from each other.

“I’m really sorry,” Hawke says after a moment. “Angus just gets excited. He would never actually hurt her.”

Anders smiles a little as he sets the cat down. Predictably, she scurries around the back of the house and presumably inside before Angus can get a good look at her. “It’s fine. Really.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but Hawke still doesn’t feel right just leaving it like this. Then again, maybe that’s less of him being an honorable person who always pays people back and more of him just being very gay.

“Wait,” he says. “I have to make it up to you somehow.”

Anders shakes his head, looking almost astounded by Hawke’s offer. “It’s no trouble, Hawke, I swear. You don’t have to—”

“But I _ want _ to,” Hawke insists, pulling out his phone. “Hey. Are you free tonight?”

Anders blinks, clearly stunned. “Um—yes. Why?”

Hawke flashes him an easy smile. He can be awkward and stumbling, yes, but he can also turn on the charm when it really counts. “Dinner’s on me. Your pick.”

For a moment, Anders just looks dumbfounded. Then his face breaks into a full-on grin, the first one Hawke has seen so far. “I _ knew _ you were a bear.”

Hawke nearly chokes on his own laughter. Looks like Anders’s gaydar is working just fine. “Well,” he says with a mischievous smirk, “I _ did _say I was good with animals.”

Anders tries not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all—and fails miserably.


End file.
